Blake's Reach

by Catherine Gaskin

  ‘No! … no, that’s not true! It’s you I love, Paul. You! … you!’

  He started towards the door. ‘A man in love has little patience, Jane. I won’t wait long, because if I do, there’ll be little in you worth having. I want your love, freely given ‒ no reservations, and no second thoughts. I’ll have you that way, wholly and completely ‒ or not at all.’

  He left her with no other words, and she sank down on the footstool before the fire. She was alone, her face buried in her hands, left by him to regret that she had not thrust everything aside, had not gone with him, this very night, if he had demanded it. Why did she feel any hesitation about leaving this house where she might expect to see another woman installed as mistress? What kind of spell had this place, this family, put upon her? Was there no peace for her, no escape from it, even in loving Paul? What had happened to the peaceful moments of love?

  ***

  In these weeks the news of Charles’s return had gone far beyond Rye, and the near neighbourhood of Blake’s Reach. Robert and Paul both reported comments they had heard and she guessed bitterly that what they neglected to tell her were the questions and the gossip they had listened to about the probable future of herself and William. She thought of all the women of the prominent families who had refused to call on her here; and she knew what they would be saying.

  It was Robert who brought her the Dover newspaper which reported Charles’s presence at the reception given by the Prince of Wales. The Prince was not popular, but he was still Royalty, and would be Regent at any moment his father’s madness took a turn for the worse; the Dover newspaper lifted Charles’s name from the list of guests, and printed the item eagerly. Jane read it, and thought of how the Marsh would enjoy this piece of news. Charles had been in England only a few weeks, and already he rubbed shoulders with the highest in the land. Jane flung the newspaper away from her in savage humour. Now that Charles had come back, the Blake family would return to the place it had held in the affairs of the Marsh, and she, Jane, would remain the outsider.

  II

  When Charles returned from London the house awoke to a life that was subtly different from the reawakening it had had on Jane’s arrival. He came, riding a new horse whose lines bespoke fine breeding, with clothes tailored by London’s most expensive firm and with gold in his saddle bags. The day after his return the carpenters and plasterers were called in, and Blake’s Reach rang with the sound of hammers and saws, and men’s voices. Two new men were hired, one for the horses, one for the garden; a man came down from London to tune the harpsichord. The household watched these changes, and regarded Charles with awe and excitement. This was traditionally how the Blakes should behave; this kind of behaviour was understood and approved.

  Charles did only one thing that met with protest, though no one dared at first to voice it before him. In London he had hired a Frenchman called Henri, and he announced to Patrick and Kate that in future the preparation of the food would be solely Henri’s task, and his word within the kitchen was to be law. Patrick was to wait on tables as usual, and Kate to attend to the household; a young girl was to be engaged in Appledore to help both herself and Henri. The arrival of Henri threw Patrick and Kate into a strange alliance; they both cordially detested the small, energetic Frenchman. Henri spoke almost no English, and the kitchen was constantly in a turmoil because of the misunderstandings which arose. When Patrick at last complained, Charles brushed him aside.

  ‘You must do the best you can. Mend your own quarrels in the kitchen, and see that Miss Jane and myself are not disturbed by them.’

  ‘A cook could have been found …’ Jane said acidly. ‘Even if we had to have one from London. But this Henri …’

  This also Charles brushed aside. ‘Why should I trust to the doubtful ministrations of an English cook, when I can have one of the finest French chefs? I found Henri in London; he had just made his way over here, and had no money. He had been cook to the Comte de Barzac, and committed the crime of remaining loyal to his master. I was very lucky to find Henri ‒ I have tasted his food many times …’

  And so a foreign despot came to rule in the kitchen at Blake’s Reach, and there was no more peace for Patrick and Kate, but, Jane admitted, the food was delicious. So also, she reckoned, would the food bills be enormous. Several times a week Henri sent the farm cart as far even as Dover to get the choicest fish and meat and game for his cooking pots and oven. He looked with some scorn on Jane’s vegetable and herb garden, and pronounced it totally inadequate. With a wave of his hand Charles sanctioned the planting of anything Henri demanded.

  Robert Turnbull commented wryly on the changes. ‘You see what the King’s Pearl can do, Jane? ‒ we shall yet see a minature Versailles at Blake’s Reach. I wonder, though,’ he added, ‘how much of this Charles has actually paid for? He may be more of a Blake than he seems.’

  Since Robert would not question Charles about money, Jane herself did not have the courage to do so. Charles merely said that the Pearl had brought a very good price. The details of the transaction seemed to bore him.

  Jane had not been forgotten during the London visit. Or perhaps, she thought, it was merely that he regarded her as a part of Blake’s Reach. The evening of his return he sent Patrick to his room for three specially wrapped boxes, which he put into Jane’s arms ‒ two pairs of fine kid gloves, a length of blue silk, and a wide hat elaborately trimmed. Jane put it on, and turned from the mirror anxiously for his inspection.

  ‘No! No!’ He jerked the hat impatiently to a deeper angle over her face. ‘There ‒ now walk away, and come back to me.’

  Meekly she did as he told her. As she wheeled he was shaking his head. ‘Keep your back straight, and ‒ Mon Dieu ‒ pull your chin in. You’re a lady, not a soldier!’

  She coloured, snatching the hat off, and flinging it into a chair. ‘Why do you bother? ‒ why do you try to make a lady of me? Does it matter how I wear the hat? And that…’ she pointed at the yards of shimmering silk. ‘I have gowns aplenty, and what need have I of one more? Where am I to wear it? Who’s to see it?’

  ‘There’ll be plenty to see it ‒ and you also! I fancy we’ll not lack company at Blake’s Reach.’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ she replied, with an edge to her voice. ‘Not since the Dover paper reported that you were at a reception given by the Prince of Wales.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘So they picked up that, did they? Well, it won’t do my credit on the Marsh any harm.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ she demanded. ‘How did you get there?’

  ‘Can’t you imagine? ‒ London is swarming with titled French émigrés, some of them cultured and talented men, whom the Prince admires. The Marquis d’Orbec presented me to the Prince. It was nothing very grand ‒ quite informal.’

  She shrugged. ‘Whatever it was, it will satisfy the gentry hereabouts. Now that they know you’re back, they’ll come in flocks like silly sheep!’

  He appeared not to have heard her; he was fingering the frayed edges of the gold curtains thoughtfully, and whistling half under his breath.

  Jane’s prediction was right; within a few days the first of the carriages came rolling along the freshly raked drive, and a liveried footman sprang down to open the door. Jane, watching from the window of her chamber, saw Roger Pym alight, and turn to help a woman whose face was hidden from Jane’s view beneath a plumed hat. She caught the sound of high-pitched voices, and two younger, slighter women followed their mother.

  A few minutes later came Kate’s agitated knocking on her door.

  ‘The Master bids you come down, Miss Jane,’ she said. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Roger Pym have come … and Miss Elizabeth and Miss Sarah.’

  ‘The fish to the bait!’ she said softly. And then, ‘Oh, damn the Pyms!’ But she changed into one of her most becoming gowns ‒ one which Anne had worn for afternoon drives in the Park ‒ and brushed her hair smooth before going downstairs. She sucked in her breath a little with nervousness as she entered
the room. She felt the sharp scrutiny of three pairs of feminine eyes, and of Roger Pym’s kindly ones. Then Charles rose from his seat and moved towards her.

  ‘And here is my cousin, Jane …’ She hoped it was not her imagination which made her fancy that in his eyes there was approval. She went through the exchange of greetings with stiff lips, angry with herself because she cared that these people would call at Blake’s Reach for Charles’s sake, but not for hers. Roger Pym she favoured with a particularly brilliant smile, at the same time swallowing hard at the obstinate lump in her throat.

  She had no way of judging what kind of impression she made on the ladies of the Pym family, but this was, as she had guessed, the first of many times she was called to the drawing-room in the weeks that followed.

  After the Pyms came the rest … Lady Stockton from Saltwood Castle, Sir Anthony Burroughs from Meade House, the Berkeleys from Ham Street, and the Wests from Ebeney. Sir James Fletcher also came; this time his wife, Lady Alice, was with him. Charles treated them all with friendliness, but somehow remained aloof. He refused completely to discuss the details of his escape. They went away curious and disappointed.

  Inevitably there were questions put to Jane about her plans for the future, some of them mere insinuations, others completely blunt. Always Charles spoke for her.

  ‘There’s much to be done here, and my Cousin Jane has kindly consented to remain on to attend to the housekeeping for me. The recent death of her mother … you understand we Blakes have a need of each other at present.’

  And after they had gone he chuckled lightly. ‘We can’t prevent them talking, Jane, so better we put the words into their mouths than have them invent their own. Do you mind very much being compromised by me …?’

  White in the face she snapped at him. ‘If you want me to go, I’ll pack my boxes at once!’

  A look of laughing bewilderment came into his face. ‘But why, Jane? … this is your home! I’d be devastated if you went!’

  And hearing the teasing quality of his voice, she turned and left the room.

  ***

  In one matter he was prompt and ready with payment. Within three days of his return the lugger, Dolphin, was bought from Wyatt at Folkestone, and the papers passed into Charles’s hands. From that moment onwards, Paul turned his energies with grim earnestness to the task of running cargoes and making profits as quickly as possible. After the transfer of the Dolphin to Charles, Paul came to dine at Blake’s Reach. He was in high good humour. He raised his glass to Jane and Charles.

  ‘Will you drink with me? This is the day of freedom! I have told my brother I am his servant no longer.’

  ‘Then we’ll drink to freedom and prosperity,’ Charles said gravely, ‘for each of us!’

  Paul’s eyes, bright with hope and excitement, were on Jane. Her heart warmed as she responded to the emotion she read there; she echoed the toast eagerly.

  ‘James was furious, of course,’ Paul added, ‘and half sick to think he hadn’t got me to order about any more. I didn’t, of course, tell him that Turnbull was still involved. Turnbull can keep his own council on that. He was mightily suspicious of you, Charles. He knows well enough I haven’t the money to buy the lugger, and your return falls in too happily with my sudden prosperity. It only needs you to tell him he may no longer use the church, and he will be certain.’

  ‘I think, though,’ Charles said thoughtfully, ‘that I’ll let him go on paying rent until he puts together another organization. It might be foolish to store Blake cargoes so near the house … we’ll think on it a little.’

  After that night Jane saw Paul very rarely, and almost never alone. Three times she rode over to Old Romney, and each time he was absent. She learned that he was pushing the Dolphin to make more runs than ever before, finding extra men for the crews so that they could work in relays. The Dolphin was making use of the fair summer weather, and remained no longer in port than was strictly necessary. Paul took on some Dutchmen as crew from Flushing, registered the Dolphin in that port, and made arrangements to water and provision the lugger there, so as to remain out of the sight of the English port authorities.

  Flushing was not her only port; she made trips to Guernsey and Roscoff, and slipped briefly into Le Havre and Dunkirk, though Paul said nothing of these visits to Charles or Jane. Whenever the Dolphin sighted a vessel flying the Revenue stripes, she put on as much sail as she could carry and slipped away, herself flying the Dutch flag. Paul himself made the trip to Holland a number of times, not skippering the vessel himself, but in order to help expedite the buying of the cargoes at the other end. The times he was not aboard the Dolphin he spent riding between the various rendezvous picked to land the contraband along the Marsh shore. He ate carelessly, and seemed never to sleep; Jane saw that he grew thinner, and his eyes were weary, though they never lost their look of feverish excitement.

  With Paul absent so often, the time began to hang heavily upon Jane’s hands. She was unsure of her position at Blake’s Reach, and there was no telling, from one day to the next, what plans Charles would make for work on the house or outbuildings ‒ plans which he seemed to forget to tell her about until the workmen arrived to carry them out. She was confused and uncertain of what to do, conscious that her help was unnecessary now that so many people came from the villages about to do Charles’s bidding. Blake’s Reach began to wear a clean and fresh air; men were hammering on the roof, and stripping away panelling where the damp had rotted it, an upholsterer came from Dover to measure for new curtains for the drawing-room. Charles also ordered a small army of village women in to clean the dining-room which had not been used in the past twenty years; new curtains were made for there, as well. Jane thought its splendour, the first evening they dined there, was decidedly cold. The candles in shining silver candlesticks cast pools of light in the centre of the long table; Charles seemed far away from her and the corners of the room were shadowy. Even Henri’s food tasted different here; Patrick moved about silently on soft-soled shoes. Jane shivered a little, and wished they were back in Spencer’s old room.

  It should have pleased her to see Blake’s Reach begin to re-emerge as the house of charm and beauty it had once been. But she looked at it with a sick heart, counting the gold it was costing to make these restorations, and knowing, that for all their spending, not a single acre of land, or an extra sheep was being bought. There were new horses in the stables, but no new cows were bought; there was a new gardener, but not a shepherd. She made a faint protest about the bill from the upholsterer for bedhangings and curtains.

  Charles looked at her coldly, with raised eyebrows. ‘I’ve lived in prison long enough to want these things about me.’ He appeared to have forgotten that once he had said he did not intend to spend money on Blake’s Reach.

  ‘But … but how to pay?’ she faltered.

  ‘Let the Dolphin pay for it all ‒ it’s well able to!’

  She was filled with rage as she watched him go. He was driving Paul to almost superhuman efforts in order that all his whims could be indulged, so that his cellar should be well stocked, and his kitchen boast a French chef. Paul’s long hours on the shore at night, and on the deck of the Dolphin were paying for the silk coat on Charles’s back, and the gold-buckled shoes he wore, for the thoroughbred horse and the new dinner service of fine china. And beyond the orchard the Blake lands had not received a foot of new fencing, nor was there any labour expended on digging the weed-choked dykes, or replacing the rotting footbridges. The profits of Paul’s work would go on trifles, and Blake’s Reach would be just as impoverished as Spencer had left it.

  ‘And what,’ she asked herself, ‘will Charles do when Paul has enough money to go?’

  But during these weeks she wouldn’t allow herself to examine too closely the change that was slowly being worked in Paul. Charles and Turnbull had turned the running of the operation completely over to him, with authority to buy and to sell where he pleased, to hire what men he wanted, to send the bribes wh
ere he thought they were needed. The steady flow of profit that came back was his justification. He was left alone to do what he pleased with the Dolphin, and he revelled in his freedom. Jane saw that he was beginning to enjoy his work; he came to Blake’s Reach more often now, still discreetly arriving and leaving by night, and always in the same exultant mood of success. He laughed as he spoke of the brushes with the Revenue Cutters, and boasted of how easily the Dolphin left them behind. Only once had they ever been near enough to a Revenue Cutter to be challenged, and even then they had simply ignored her signal to heave-to, and had been out of gun range within a few minutes.

  Smacking his knee with satisfaction at the memory, he gestured towards Charles. ‘We should have a sister-ship to the Dolphin. When we have half the purchase money I could get Wyatt to lay the keel … I’ve an excellent man who’d do as skipper …’

  Charles nodded his agreement. ‘A good idea …’

  Jane could have cried out in despair. Charles was chaining Paul to him as James had never been able. He was intoxicated by his mastery of the Dolphin, by the efficiency of his plans, and their smooth, quick operation. He no longer talked of the ugly business of smuggling, but found it, instead, a fascinating game.

  Sometimes, as he laughed, he reminded her unpleasantly, of his brother, James.

  So there was a murderous rage in her heart against Charles during the long hot days of August when there was so little rain, and the dust rose chokingly from the Marsh roads and fields as the livestock moved across them. Charles insisted that she accompany him to repay the calls on the neighbouring gentry; she sat beside him stiffly in the carriage, and just as stiffly in the drawing-rooms of Meade House, Ebeney and Warefield House. She did all the correct things, faithfully copying the customs and habits of the womenfolk, joined the dull conversations which were no more than local gossip repeated and retold at each place they visited. She found herself irritated and bored with it, and the image of Paul was with her all the time ‒ Paul, confident and boastful, Paul growing a little greedy for the spoils of the game, and caring for them for their own sake, Paul, who saw her now only at Blake’s Reach, and for short periods of time.